The dilemma I am a 53-year-old husband, happily married for 10 years. Everything is as good as it could be, but I sometimes feel like a neglected housewife living in the 1950s, while the “husband” (my wife) is ignoring the real me – and that real me is a writer.
I write anything and everything from novels to TV shows to poems to jokes – and I love all of it. I work part-time and mostly I’m a stay-at-home father while my wife earns the larger salary. We’re just getting by financially, but we are happy and open with one another about everything. Regarding my home duties, I feel wholly appreciated, yet whenever I mention my writing, my wife quickly changes the subject or gets a glazed look in her eyes. At times, she even struggles to stifle a yawn. She’s never shown an interest and has hardly read anything I’ve written.
About a year ago, I spoke to her about needing her support as it’s a lonely pursuit, and she listened. But nothing changed. I then realised she was not interested in me as a writer, so my question is not how do I force her to be interested but what do I need to do for it not to hurt any more? What do I need to do for it not to feel personal? She loves me completely, yet there’s a part of me that doesn’t exist in our relationship and it is one of the largest and most sacred parts of me. It is the part of me that sustains me as an individual, gifts me self-esteem in relation to myself. It is my voice, yet it seems to be ignored by the love of my life.
Philippa’s answer Nora Barnacle, James Joyce’s lover and later wife, was indifferent to his writing. Nora is quoted as saying, “What do I want to read his books for when I have the man himself?”
Speaking personally, I adore my husband (an artist and all-round polymath) and yet what he is known for is, for me, the least interesting thing about him. Like Nora, I feel I have “the man”. He could be a road sweeper, but he would be the same man and I’d still want to be married to him. Yes, being a fountain of creative genius makes him part of who he is, but that’s not the main point of him for me. The point is, he’s my bloke! For me, it’s about how I feel when we’re together, not about what genius work he’s produced that day.
Your wife loves you, you. Not what flows from your pen, your readers love that, they don’t know you. You haven’t mentioned what your wife actually does, what she produces at work apart from money, which is merely the outcome of what she does. Whatever it is – and it may mean an awful lot to her – I think you’d agree is beside the point of her. She is the point, and you are the point.
I write books, too, I make art, cook meals and make sure the car’s MOT is up to date, but this is not who I am. I am my values, my relationships, how I treat others, I am my presence and my energy. I think what my work is doesn’t matter to the people close to me so much as these other things.
With our writing, we connect with the public. We might share publicly some of what feels uniquely personal, possibly even sacred. Perhaps your wife doesn’t like sharing you? Perhaps she wants the private you to herself, not the version that gets shared with the world. After all, she’s the wife, not a fan.
In Harry Hill’s autobiography, Fight!, he says: “Don’t marry a fan.” And I think that’s wise advice. You need to be seen for who you are, as you see your wife, not because of what you produce.
Reframe how you are thinking about this. Your writing voice is your public voice; it’s your private voice that is more interesting to her. Reading someone’s writing might feel like being once removed from them for her and she may want to be closer than that. Your writing is a vital part of you, but its importance doesn’t need to be validated by your closest family to remain meaningful. Your self-esteem as a writer comes from within, as well as from the fact that you are appreciated by others outside your family for your work. If you can focus more on the intrinsic satisfaction your writing brings you, her indifference might sting less.
Let her know how much your work means to you without pressure or expectation that she will engage with the writing itself. Expectation is the enemy of relationships, whereas acceptance is key.
No couple’s relationship is perfect and I expect Joyce would have liked a bit more interest from Nora in his work, but he had to accept that she didn’t love him because of his writing. Writing was a big part of him for him, but for her, not so much.
Every week Philippa Perry addresses a personal problem sent in by a reader. If you would like advice from Philippa, please send your problem to askphilippa@guardian.co.uk. Submissions are subject to our terms and conditions
